


Coffee and Croques

by peaceoutofthepieces



Series: Skam Bingo 2020 [6]
Category: SKAM (France), WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, Crush at First Sight, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Mutual Pining, elu and vds are mostly only background, i also don’t actually know how to write a coffee shop au, so there’s free food and late night croque dates, there’s bets and flirting and mild jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:36:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24752509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceoutofthepieces/pseuds/peaceoutofthepieces
Summary: The first time the boy came to the coffee shop, Sander claimed him as his customer. He beat Eliott to the counter and fixed on his best smile, and didn’t realise the downside as he cheerfully offered to take the coffee right to his table. The first time, the boy had entered with bags under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders made to block people out. It happened to be exactly what drew Sander in.Despite never seeing him before, there was a sense of familiarity surrounding this boy, like Sanderknewhim in a way beyond these casual interactions, before this chance meeting. As if they’d known each other in a past life, and Sander’s soul recognised him still. He felt a little ridiculous for the thought—the boy wasattractiveand there was nothing wrong with admitting to a crush and leaving it at that.A crush that developed and is still developing, that is.~^~Sander works at the on-campus coffee shop with Eliott, and he might just have a crush on the cute boy in the brown coat.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant, Jens Stoffels/Lucas van der Heijden, Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Series: Skam Bingo 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729147
Comments: 15
Kudos: 219





	Coffee and Croques

Sander thinks he’s sly. 

Eliott knows better. 

As employees, they really aren’t supposed to play favourites, so he supposes Sander has to try to act cool. He can’t pay too much special attention to the boy in the brown coat, can’t dedicate too much extra time to making sure his coffee is perfect and doing his fancy cream art on the top. He can’t make it _obvious_. But he can’t hide it from Eliott. 

Unlike him, Sander doesn’t smile _like that_ for just anyone. 

It’s how he smiles now, appearing out of the back room just as the bell over the door jingles and the small college boy enters, wearing his usual brown coat with his bag slung over his shoulder. He glances down at the back corner towards his usual table—making sure it’s empty, Eliott assumes. His thin shoulders relax, and only then does he turn to make his way to the counter, where Sander has conveniently slid himself in in front of Eliott. Eliott ducks his head to hide his smile and resumes the meticulous task of taking stock, pretending he isn’t listening to the two boys greet each other and taking special note of Sander’s fumbling. 

When the customer has disappeared to his table, Eliott pops up by Sander’s shoulder to say, “You know, if you didn’t always offer to take it to his table, you might actually know his name by now.”

Sander jumps, whipping his head around to look at him. He glares at Eliott for only a second before his shoulders slump. “I’m being chivalrous,” he defends. “And why should I want to know what his name is? He’s just a customer.”

Eliott hums, still smiling knowingly. Sander pointedly ignores him as he turns to switch on the coffee maker, letting it brew as he collects a cup and slips it into one of the cafe’s signature sleeves. 

“Well, if you’re still busy and it’s not important, I can take him his coffee,” Eliott offers cheerfully. 

Sander doesn’t even flinch. “No it’s okay, I’ve got it. I’m finished up out back anyway.”

Eliott’s smile only widens. But, he decides to let him be. Sander will get there in his own time. If it takes too much longer, _then_ Eliott will start to push a little more. Still gently. 

But he’s worked with Sander for ten months, known him for three years before that, and he’ll be damned if he lets him mess up this opportunity. He’s never seen Sander like this in all that time. He’s never seen that exact smile on Sander’s face, that particular look in his eye, that subtly smitten expression that indicates love-at-first-sight. Eliott _knows_ that look. 

Eliott can hide his favouritism with relative ease, is naturally charismatic with all his customers, but he also knows he doesn’t _have_ to hide much. There are different circumstances surrounding his own favourite customer. 

He’s turned back to his task by the time the door jingles again, and Sander calls, “Eliott,” from where he’s still stood at the coffee machine. Eliott begins to make his way to the counter before he halts, a grin brightening his face as that exact customer walks up to him with a smile. 

Lucas leans that smile over the counter to greet Eliott with a quiet, “Hi.”

“Hey,” Eliott beams, ducking down to meet him in a kiss. 

People get over their barista showing favouritism when said favourite is their incredibly cute boyfriend. 

“Not in the work place,” Sander complains. “I see enough of it already. Eliott, at least move away from my cream.”

Eliott flaps a hand at him in acknowledgment before sliding along the counter, pulling Lucas with him, until their a suitable distance away from Sander’s half-hearted scolding. He steals one more kiss, just on Lucas’s cheek, as Lucas raises a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Is that how you welcome your customers?” he asks Sander. 

Sander rolls his eyes, half smiling. “I think you got a warm enough welcome.”

Lucas turns his smile back to Eliott and receives a wink in response. “That’s true,” Lucas shrugs. 

Eliott makes a noise of protest. “Don’t let him get away with it! He already gets away with too much.”

“And who lets me?” Sander points out, brow raised as he finally looks up from his coffee making and steps out from behind the counter. Eliott, in a kind act of maturity, sticks his tongue out at him as he wanders to the back corner. 

Lucas cranes his neck to watch where he goes, then looks back to Eliott, searching. For once, Eliott knows he’s looking for information rather than attention. “Have we updates on that situation yet?”

“No,” Eliott sighs. “And don’t let Sander hear you call it a situation. Or know that I told you anything. He still refuses to even tell me anything.”

“Apparently refuses to make a move too,” Lucas mumbles, watching Sander set the coffee down with a cheerful smile and a comment they can’t hear. The boy smiles back at him, looking shyly amused by Sander’s interaction. “Do we even know his name yet?”

“I haven’t even gotten to speak to him yet,” Eliott sighs again. “Do you really think I’m going to have to tell Sander he has a crush?”

“He definitely already knows that, he just doesn’t want to talk to you about it,” Lucas says easily, as Eliott’s expression drops into a shocked frown. “Which is why it’s good that you have me.”

Eliott giggles and completely ignores Lucas’s sour glance. “You think you can get it out of him?”

“I bet I can.”

Eliott leans his elbows on the counter, waiting for Lucas to look at him before grinning wide and flicking his brows up. “How much?”

~^~

The first time the boy came to the coffee shop, Sander claimed him as his customer. He beat Eliott to the counter and fixed on his best smile, and didn’t realise the downside as he cheerfully offered to take the coffee right to his table. The first time, the boy had entered with bags under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders made to block people out. It happened to be exactly what drew Sander in. 

Despite never seeing him before, there was a sense of familiarity surrounding this boy, like Sander _knew_ him in a way beyond these casual interactions, before this chance meeting. As if they’d known each other in a past life, and Sander’s soul recognised him still. He felt a little ridiculous for the thought—the boy was _attractive_ and there was nothing wrong with admitting to a crush and leaving it at that. 

A crush that developed and is still developing, that is. 

Because the first time, despite the bags and the tension and the obvious exhaustion weighing this boy down, the tiny smile and shy thanks he offered Sander felt brighter than the sun. There was an easy, unstoppable light emanating from him, drawing Sander in like a moth to a flame. Sander is always aware of his presence, always instinctively makes his way to the counter at the ring of the bell, even before he catches sight of the russet curls and brown coat. It doesn’t matter that they don’t really know each other. It doesn’t matter that the boy comes in and orders his coffee and then sits quietly at his table, doing his college work, never initiating any conversation. Never purposefully interacting with Sander, never getting up to order anything else, never drawing attention to himself. 

All that matters is the smile he offers Sander when he comes in. The soft voice he orders his coffee in, as if afraid of being overheard. The quick, grateful grin when Sander deposits his coffee on the table. The quiet giggle he can’t seem to hold back the few times Sander shows a bit more confidence, presenting the coffee with a dramatic flourish and a joke. ‘The elixir of life, just for you’; ‘black coffee, as bitter as this fucking cold’; ‘your love potion, monsieur’.

Okay, so maybe he hasn’t used that last one. Not yet. 

It would probably be a good idea to at least know the guy’s name first. 

The only problem is, he has no idea how to find that out now. When you’ve been greeting and serving and talking to someone for just over a month, the opportunity to casually ask for their name seems like it has slipped past. To do it now would be to make an absolute fool of himself. He supposes he could always get Eliott to do it, but there are many reasons he’s refusing to go to Eliott about this. He supposes he could hide out in the back room some day the boy comes in and let Eliott serve him. Listen at the door and hopefully catch his name. Would it be weird of him, though, to suddenly know his name then? Would he have to explain? Would the boy even notice? Does he pay half as much attention to Sander as Sander does to him? Can Sander really pass up an opportunity to talk to him, even to get such a priceless piece of information?

He realises he doesn’t have answers to any of these questions and continues to spiral. 

Since when does he find flirting so hard?

It might have something to do with the fact that this boy is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. It’s probably because his heart races and his stomach flutters and his palms sweat. Every single time without fail. 

Yeah. He definitely can’t talk to Eliott about this. 

That doesn’t mean Eliott doesn’t already know. 

He comes bouncing into the back room with too much energy for a Sunday morning and begins ushering Sander out. “I need to take my meds, can you watch the till for a few minutes?”

Sander doesn’t even question it; he just lightly pats his friend on the shoulder and makes his way out front. Before he even makes it to the counter, he catches sight of the small brown-coated figure across the street. His lips twitch up in a smile. It only widens a few seconds later, when the bell over the door jingles and brown eyes settle on his. 

“Hi,” the boy says quietly, responding to Sander’s smile with a small one of his own. His fingers are clutching the strap of his bag rather tightly, and there are dark bags under his eyes that instantly fill Sander with concern. 

Sander’s grin doesn’t falter. He keeps the cheerful tone that seems to be expected of him and manages to avoid leaning eagerly across the counter. “Hey. The usual?”

The boy hesitates, then eventually nods. “Please.”

“I’ll bring it down to you,” Sander assures, already moving to the coffee machine. He doesn’t notice the boy standing at the counter for another lingering moment before moving away, tension still laced through his slumped shoulders. ‘The usual’ is just a black coffee, something that has never appealed to Sander himself, but this boy orders every time without fail. It’s the blandest item on the menu, but the cheapest, Sander has noticed. He also never orders anything else, no matter what mouth-watering goods they have on display. Sander spends almost all day salivating over them, but this boy only spares them the occasional hungry glance on the way to his table. 

Sander tries not to be pushy, or nosy, but he likes to think he can be thoughtful on occasion. 

He collects an eclair from the case and places it delicately on a napkin, then one of their small serving plates. He takes it in one hand and the coffee in the other and makes his way to the table at the back corner. There are already numerous books spread over the space when Sander gets there and a laptop cracked open, illuminating the boy’s face in the lack of sunlight. Sander finds an empty space on the table and sets his offerings down, heart fluttering as the boy looks up at him with a smile. 

“Bon appetit,” Sander grins, feeling reluctant at the idea of leaving already. Even though he knows he has no reason to stick around. He wants to just pull out the free chair and sit down and talk to this boy for hours. His eyes sweep over the table, over the books and sheets spread around, looking for something he could use to start a conversation. His eyes settle on the textbook closest to him, something science related with a complicated looking diagram in the cover, and he smiles. 

Before he can be caught for lingering, he turns away, only to stop as fingers brush over his arm and that gentle voice says, “Wait. I didn’t order that.”

Sander turns back around to see his brown eyes focused on the plate with the eclair. They flick up to Sander’s and then quickly away again as he draws his hand away. Sander smiles, though he feels a little concerned. “No, but you looked like you could use it.” Sander hesitates, then his eyes widen and he feels like smacking himself. “Unless you don’t like it. I shouldn’t have assumed. You can pick something different, if you’d like. On the house. This is just my personal favourite, and the little burst of sugar might give you some energy, right?”

He’s tugged the rag out of the front of his apron as he talked, and wrings it between his hands. A nervous habit he’s picked up to get rid of the buzzing in his fingers, to hide their shaking. 

The other boy doesn’t seem to notice. His lips begin to curl up in a smile before he purses them tightly and shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Well, you can’t stop me. It’s already here now. Be a pity to waste it. Do you like them though?”

Another moment of hesitation, then a nod. A tiny smile. “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay. Cool. We always get to take a bunch of leftovers home, so I always come out of here with a whole box of them. Seriously, don’t worry about it. Sharing is caring, and all that.”

The smile widens. Sander smiles awkwardly back and begins to turn on his heel, closing his eyes as his face burns and he internally curses himself. He barely makes it a few steps, however, before he hears, “Hey, Sander,” and wheels back around. Before Sander can fall into a whirl of thoughts trying to figure out how his crush knows his name, he remembers his name tag. 

The boy’s smile is even softer than usual as he clasps his hands together and rests his forearms on the table, leaning forward, towards Sander. “Thank you,” he says simply.

Sander feels himself grinning. “You’re welcome, Robbe.”

When his smile turns confused and an adorable crease forms on his brow, Sander taps the book he’d been looking at earlier. The one with a label in the corner, reading ‘ROBBE IJZERMANS’ in clear block letters. Robbe huffs in understanding, smile smoothing out again as he looks up at Sander. Sander feels his heart flutter even as his breath slips out in relief, grateful he hadn’t gotten it wrong. 

He doesn’t think he has an excuse for staying here any longer, no matter how much he wants to, and he really should get back to the counter before Eliott comes out. He taps the book again before stepping backwards. “Don’t work too hard, Robbe,” he says, just to repeat the name, to feel it bounce around in his mouth and roll off his tongue. It feels like a kiss as it leaves his lips. 

Sander is way too far gone to have just found out this boy’s name. 

“You, too,” Robbe raises his brows after him, already seeming like some of the tension has dropped off his shoulders. 

Even an hour later, as Sander is making a more complicated concoction for another customer, his eyes find their way to Robbe and he can’t wipe the grin off his face. 

Three hours after that, when he’s lying on his back on the sofa in his flat, he mouths the word again while tracing it in the air with his finger. 

_Robbe._

~^~

It takes a few moments of looking around before Jens finds Robbe, and then he grins and steps fully inside, lifting his hand in a wave. Robbe waves back and nods as Jens points at the counter, indicating he’s going to get a drink before joining him. He shoots a glance at the counter, but it’s the tall, brunette, energetic employee that greets Jens. Not Sander. Meaning Robbe has no excuse but to drop his gaze back to his laptop screen and sigh, rubbing his hands over his burning eyes. He hasn’t been working at it long, this assignment that isn’t due for another three weeks, so that isn’t why he feels so exhausted. It’s because he feels so exhausted that he’s decided to ease up on his work for the day. 

Hence, Jens. 

Robbe glances up as Jens pulls out the chair across from him, setting his coat over the back as he smiles at Robbe. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Robbe sighs, smiling tiredly. His eyes flit back to the counter as Jens sits down and catch on bleached hair. Sander stands behind the food case, where he’s setting a slice of cake on a plate and already looking at Robbe. Robbe’s lips twitch up in a bigger smile, chest warming, but the boy only gives him a small nod in response, eyes jumping to Jens before sliding away. 

Robbe’s smile drops. He feels disappointed, even though he doesn’t know what he expected. It’s not like he and Sander are friends. It’s not like Robbe is anything more than a regular customer. It’s not like it’s Sander’s fault that Robbe formed this stupid, instant, impossible crush on him the second he first entered the coffee shop. It’s not like Sander knows it’s the only reason Robbe keeps coming back. 

“Earth to Robbe?” Jens waves a hand in front of his face. Robbe looks back at him to find a curious expression on his face, his brows raised and a crooked smile on his lips. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” Robbe says, too quickly, shaking his head, but Jens is already looking over his shoulder, following Robbe’s line of sight. 

Robbe can tell the exact moment he catches sight of Sander, eyes going wide in understanding before he swivels back to Robbe. His brows move towards his hairline and he juts his chin at Robbe, as if to say ‘ _not bad_ ’. “Ahh, so now I see why this is your favourite hangout. Hot baristas. That makes way more sense.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Robbe mumbles, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. He wrinkles his nose at the realisation that it’s gone cold. 

Jens nods. “Mmhm. Right. So you definitely didn’t completely zone out because you were staring at him.”

“Nope.”

“And you come here purely for study purposes.”

“Yep.”

“You don’t at all get distracted.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You know I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

“Yeah.”

Jens huffs, shaking his head amusedly. He rests his forearms on the table and glances around another time. Robbe pointedly does not do the same, kicking Jens’s shin under the table in an attempt to get him to stop. Jens ignores him, eyes sweeping over Sander, lingering, before he nods again and turns back to Robbe. “Name?”

Robbe scowls at him, then sighs when Jens only stares patiently back. “Sander.”

“What does he study?”

“I don’t know,” Robbe shrugs. “I’ve never really spoken to him.”

Jens furrows his brows, like he doesn’t quite believe that. “You’ve been coming here like three times a week for the past month and you’ve never spoken to him? Is the coffee really that good?”

Robbe shrugs again. Before he can agree, or argue, or defend himself, there’s a clatter as two cups are set down rather harshly on the table. Cream sloshes over the top of one as Sander pulls his hands away, looking down at them with a tight smile. “If you’d like anything else, just let us know. Enjoy your stay.”

Robbe blinks. _Enjoy your stay?_ Sander has gifted Robbe more than a few strange and awkward one-liners, but never something so basic. So dismissive. The last time he’d been in here, just three days ago, Sander had brought him a free dessert. Now he won’t even look at him. 

Did Robbe do something wrong? 

How could he do something wrong, if he was never doing anything in the first place? He meant it when he said he and Sander have never really talked. Robbe doesn’t even really order his coffee. Sander just asks if it’s the usual, brings it to his table, makes some silly comment and then leaves. Robbe is no different to any other customer. Sander is probably just busy. 

Yet, Robbe feels himself desperately searching for something to say, leaning over the table, wanting Sander to stay. Or at least _smile_. 

“It was good, on Sunday,” he blurts, just as Sander’s turning away. He can see Jens’s brows shoot up and ignores him as Sander slowly twists back around, blinking at Robbe. It’s only when he realises Sander is biting back a smile that he also sees how weird that sounded. “The eclair, I mean. The dessert. Uhm. It was a good choice. I just wanted to say thanks again.”

Sander smiles at him, but it still doesn’t seem right, still doesn’t seem entirely real. He barely even meets Robbe’s eyes as he mutters a, “No worries.”

“And I was, uh,” he speaks up before Sander can even think about moving away again. “I was wondering if you had any other recommendations. Because I’m assuming you haven’t just tried the eclairs.”

Jens sets his face in his hand as Sander nods slowly. He considers for a moment. “The fudge cake is really good, if you wanted to try another dessert. But my favourite is actually the croques. A lot of people actually come in and have them for breakfast. And dinner.”

Robbe finds himself nodding and smiling and not saying anything in response. Just staring at Sander, unable to look away, especially when the blonde’s lips finally twitch into Robbe’s favourite smile. He realises he’s probably expected to order something, that Sander probably assumes that’s why he asked, but Robbe never brings any money with him other than what’s needed to pay for his coffee. He’d just wanted an excuse to talk to Sander again, to make him stay, to make sure the weird vibe he’d felt wasn’t permanent. 

Jens perks up and saves him, shooting a bright grin up at Sander. “We’ll have a slice of that cake and two croques, then?” Jens raises a brow at Robbe to make sure, and when Robbe nods, confirms the order with Sander. 

“Coming right up,” Sander says, and the tight smile is back as he nods at Jens before walking away. 

Robbe groans and drops his head onto his arms as soon as Sander is out of hearing distance. He hears Jens give an amused huff before a hand settles in his hair, patting his head soothingly. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It wasn’t good, either.”

“No, it wasn’t good. But he didn’t really seem to mind.”

Robbe simply groans again in response. He only lifts his head when he hears a new voice greet, “Hey.” 

He looks up just in time to see Lucas appear next to Jens, ducking down to press a kiss to his cheek in greeting. Jens catches his hand and kisses his paint-covered knuckles in response, as Lucas leans over to give Robbe a one-armed hug. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay, I ordered for you,” Jens says simply as Robbe shuts his laptop and slides it back into his bag. 

Lucas pinches his boyfriend’s cheek. “Cute.” Jens snaps at his fingers with his teeth and Lucas snatches his hand away, laughing. Robbe shakes his head as Lucas takes a spare seat and sets it between Jens and Robbe’s at the table, eagerly pulling his iced coffee towards himself and taking a sip. Jens rests a hand on his forearm as he looks between them and asks, “What did I miss?”

“Me, I hope,” Jens grins, leaving Lucas and Robbe to roll their eyes before he adds, “and Robbe’s crush that he didn’t tell us about.”

Lucas swivels towards him immediately with wide eyes and a matching grin. “Crush? Who? Is it someone we know?”

Jens leans towards him conspiratorially. “No, it’s the one with the bleach—“

Robbe kicks his leg just as Sander appears at the table again, two plates in hand. He takes much more care setting these down, shooting Lucas a curious look. Lucas doesn’t notice; he’s too busy making a questioning face at Jens, waiting for affirmation before smiling charmingly at Sander. Robbe watches as Sander smiles back, grateful that he doesn’t seem to have noticed anything off. 

Lucas’s eyes land on the cake and light up, and the questioning glance he shoots Jens now is much more hopeful. Jens nudges the plate towards him with a smile, nodding his head at Sander. “I’ve been told by the professional that it’s the best and I only get the best for you.”

Robbe huffs, but is unable to hold back a smile as Lucas positively beams. This time he steals a kiss on the lips, nothing more than a lingering peck, but enough to make Robbe’s heart twist as he flicks his gaze up to Sander. Sander isn’t looking at him, though. He’s glancing between Jens and Lucas with a dumbfounded expression. “Wait, you two are together?”

Jens and Lucas break away from their own little world to look up at him, faces contorting into something defensive before going carefully blank. Robbe holds his breath as Lucas raises a brow. “Is there a problem with that?”

Sander snaps out of it quickly, shaking his head as he laughs slightly. “No! No, sorry. I just thought that you were—nevermind. No problem. It’s great, actually. Wonderful.” He leans down, lowering his voice to jokingly add, “I’m actually a bit jealous, I’ve been looking for a boyfriend of my own recently.”

Robbe doesn’t think he imagines the way Sander’s eyes dart to him as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Robbe’s heart stutters dangerously in his chest. 

The boys’ tones change drastically, faces brightening in an instant. Jens leans on the table again, eyes intent on Sander. “You have anyone in particular in mind?”

“Maybe. Someone gentle. Pretty. And they have to like my croques, obviously.”

Jens nods, raising his brows as he smiles at Robbe. “That doesn’t seem too hard to fill.”

“I don’t think so, either,” Sander says thoughtfully, though he’s smiling. He turns his head from Jens to Robbe, and Robbe has to work not to blush and sink down in his seat. Instead he manages to smile back as a riot kicks up in his stomach, intensifying when Sander pushes the plate of croques towards him. “Let me know if you enjoy these as much as the last dish.”

Robbe can only stare as he winks at him before walking away, sashaying back to the counter with much more spirit than earlier. Robbe keeps watching him until Lucas punches his shoulder—a little too hard. Robbe winces away and glares at him, but Lucas isn’t phased in the slightest, grinning after Sander with even more glee than Robbe. 

“What, the fuck,” Jens says, slumping back in his seat. He’s still grinning, too. “That’s a whole different vibe to just ten minutes ago. I didn’t think the guy was actually into you too.”

“What makes you think he’s into me?”

“Robbe, are you serious?” Lucas cuts in. “He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. He legit winked. That was so fucking cute.”

“Hey,” Jens frowns. “Sounding a little too awed there, babe.”

“I am a hundred percent in awe of this potential boyfriend for _Robbe_ , babe. Did you notice how he didn’t finish his sentence earlier? Like, he thought you were what? I bet he thought you were with Robbe.”

Jens clicks his fingers, as if that makes perfect sense. “That’s it! He must have been jealous when he came over with the coffees. No wonder he was giving me the death glare.”

“Guys, wait,” Robbe cuts in, laughing slightly. Nervously. “What? You’re way overthinking this. He doesn’t even know me. I don’t see why he would like me and I definitely don’t get why he’d be jealous.”

Jens gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t you like him? Wouldn’t you be jealous if you thought he was dating someone?”

Robbe admits that he may have a point there. Outwardly, he only sighs. 

“Well, you at least know he’s into guys now. So you do have a chance. So eat your croques and then go tell him you liked them.” Lucas hits his arm lightly, already lifting his fork and digging into his own slice of cake. 

Robbe picks up a croque. 

It is, in fact, better than the last dish. It might be the best thing Robbe has ever tasted. Still, he refuses to eat both, claiming Jens should at least have some lunch if he’s going to pay for it. Having Jens and Lucas there is nice for a change, especially since they haven’t had many opportunities to hang out recently, but Robbe can’t help getting distracted. He feels bad for constantly zoning out, for getting lost in their conversations. But Lucas and Jens do nothing more than give him knowing, amused glances and lightly tease him. Lucas goes so far as to dab a bit of chocolate on his nose to get his attention. 

“Lucas,” he whines, wiping it off and smudging it over Lucas’s cheek. Lucas only laughs and has Jens there to gently wipe it away, obviously leading into a short, private kiss that Robbe quietly diverts his gaze from. 

He’s more than happy for Jens, and he’s loved Lucas since meeting him, and he feels bad that he kind of hates hanging out with them, sometimes. It isn’t for the same reasons as it once might have been, and the jealousy in his chest isn’t the sharp, burning sting he’d experienced around Jana, but it’s undeniable. This feeling is more of a lonely twinge, and it turns his smile small and rueful, portraying a half-hearted happiness. 

It’s just that he’s kind of been looking for a boyfriend of his own recently, too, and he has someone very particular in mind. 

When they’ve been sat there for around an hour, they pick themselves up and follow Jens to pay for their food. Sander’s still at the till, and he smiles when he sees them approaching, before shaking his head at Jens’s money. “On the house. As an apology for being so weird.”

“You weren’t weird, it was just a misunderstanding,” Jens argues. “Let me treat them.”

“No, really, let me treat you. If not as an apology then in honour of the happy couple.” He and Jens eye each other for another moment, and then Jens pursing his lips and nods, stuffing his cash in his pocket. Lucas simply pats his shoulder and thanks Sander as Robbe’s jaw drops. 

Robbe lingers as the two of them make their way to the door, moving to stand in front of Sander with a pinched expression. “I’m gonna feel bad if you keep giving me food and not letting me pay for it.”

Sander smiles and shakes his head, resting his arms on the counter to lean towards Robbe. “It’s my choice. And I’m also not letting your friends pay for it. Really, don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t give out free stuff if I didn’t want to. I don’t do it often.”

“So why do you do it with me?” The words slip out before Robbe can stop them, but he realises he desperately wants to know. He wants Sander to confirm it, somehow. Even though he isn’t sure what ‘it’ is, beyond the surely flirtatious comments and the feeling of _connection_ Robbe can’t believe he’s imagining. 

Sander doesn’t give him an answer, however, choosing instead to smile wider and ask, “What did you think, then? Of the croques?”

Robbe isn’t sure why he blushes. “They’re good.”

“Yeah?” Sander brightens. “Best croque ever?”

Robbe bites his lip. He thinks that, maybe, this is confirmation enough. He smiles back, nodding. 

“Best croque ever.”

~^~

“Robbe?”

Sander makes his way to the lonely brunette, walking through the maze of empty tables to come to a stop a few feet away from him. He has to repeat the boy’s name before he looks up. Robbe looks around in what seems like surprise, taking in the silent cafe before focusing on the window next to Sander, where the sun has sunk low over the horizon. He blinks and sits up straight in his seat before sending Sander a sheepish smile. 

“We’re closing,” Sander says softly. “Are you okay?”

Robbe nods quickly, already moving to start packing up his things. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I just lost track of time. I’ll get out of your hair, I didn’t mean to—“

“Robbe,” Sander cuts him off, smiling slightly. He feels like he’s always smiling around Robbe. “It’s okay. I still have to clean out the coffee machine and pack up the leftovers if you wanna finish off whatever you’re doing. It’ll at least be quiet for you.”

Robbe hesitates with his hands still holding his book. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. It’s actually kind of creepy here this late on my own, so I’ll appreciate the company.” Sander winks, then immediately wants to take it back, feeling like _that_ was probably the creepy part. He’d seemed to get a good reaction the other time, he supposes, but he also thinks he doesn’t actually know Robbe well enough to decide. He’s never sure if the reactions he gets are _good_ or merely polite. He feels like the flirting on his end has been very clear. It’s never seemed to actually be returned, though.

But now, when Robbe ducks his head and a faint blush can be seen in the tops of his cheeks and the red tips of his ears, Sander decides he can’t do much better than that. Then Robbe looks up at him from under his lashes, small smile and pleased, and murmurs the sweetest, “Thank you,” Sander has ever heard. 

Sander’s smile softens drastically as he gives a short nod and leaves the boy to his work, reluctantly heading to the coffee machine. The work doesn’t seem as tedious with something there to distract him. With that something being as beautiful as Robbe, it’s actually pleasant to still be there. The last stragglers had left shortly after he spoke to Robbe, a few other overworked college students that Sander has had to kindly kick out before. He noticed a few giving Robbe suspicious looks as they left, others sympathetic, one particularly knowing. Sander hadn’t let them phase him. It had almost made him feel validated, thinking _someone_ realised he was partial to this particular customer, having someone notice his crush. 

At this stage, it feels almost wrong to refer to Robbe that way. ‘Crush’ does seem to encompass the vastness or the strength of his feelings. But he isn’t sure how it can be more, not when he barely knows the boy, when he’s had so little opportunity to speak to him. 

Maybe tonight will be an opportunity to change that. 

He’s used to playing Bowie on the old stereo they have behind the counter when he closes up, but he hadn’t wanted to distract Robbe. Instead he listens to the quiet scratch of pen on paper, the rapid tapping of keys, the extended, frequent sighs Robbe lets out, and finds it oddly comforting. Comfortable. He’s not quite surprised the silence doesn’t bother him when he’s with Robbe. 

He doesn’t need Bowie or the raucous activity of a full cafe to drown out his thoughts. He just glances at the corner, lets a smile tug at his lips, and feels his mind go quiet. 

Robbe has slumped over the table by the time Sander’s done, hand moving sluggishly over the paper as Sander joins him at his table. He turns the chair around and sits down backwards, setting the box in his hands on the table and crossing his arms over the back of the chair, resting his chin on top. “You think you’ve been working long enough, Starman?”

Robbe glances up at him, pen coming to a halt as he smiles tiredly. “It’s never enough, apparently.”

Sander frowns. “It seems like you do more than enough.”

“BioMed doesn’t accept any less than a hundred percent of your time. At this stage, I’m listing scientific terms even in my sleep.” Robbe sighs, dropping his pen on top of his book and leaning back in his chair. Sander wants to bundle him up in a blanket and then in his arms and let him sleep. Maybe rock him gently, maybe brush a hand through his hair, maybe spooned up close to his back where he can press light kisses to the nape of his neck. 

Sander quickly shuts down that train of thought and widens his smile. “Well, I see you working hard all the time. So I think you deserve a treat.”

Robbe’s lips begin to quirk in a smile, eyes brightening; but he quickly shakes his head. “You’ve already given me too much.”

_Nothing is too much for you._

Instead of telling Robbe that, Sander opens the lid of the box and nudges it towards the brunette, who eagerly peers inside despite himself. He smiles fully at the sight of the croques as Sander says, “Well, you can’t possibly expect me to eat them all myself, can you?” He’s hesitant time ask, to imply, because it’s already late and Robbe is so tired. He probably just wants to go home and sleep. He probably doesn’t want to hang out with the random guy who works at the coffee shop. He probably doesn’t want cold ketchup at ten thirty. 

He probably shouldn’t smile at Sander with his eyes and say, “I guess not,” in that tone if he doesn’t want to give Sander so many wrong ideas. 

Sander shuffles two napkins out from the side of the box, setting one in front of Robbe and keeping the other in his hand. He picks a croque and sets it on top, waiting for Robbe to do the same before taking a bite. Robbe seems hesitant to join him, but quickly forgets his indecision, making it halfway through his second croque before Sander has finished his first. It makes sense; in the five or so hours Robbe has been here, he hasn’t eaten a thing. Sander stops himself from teasing, not wanting to do anything to deter the other boy. 

Instead he shifts back and lifts a leg up onto his chair, gazing across the table at Robbe. “Does the fact you come to a noisy coffee shop to do your work maybe have anything to do with it? You know there is a perfectly good library not far away.”

Robbe raises a brow. “Trying to get rid of me?” Sander shakes his head, denying it instantly, arguing that he’s just curious. Robbe simply shrugs. “The library doesn’t serve coffee.”

Sander acquiesces, nodding. “Or free late night snacks,” he adds around a swallow. 

“Yeah,” Robbe nods. “And the croques are nice, too.” 

Sander stares dumbly for a second before realising, _He means it’s me. I’m the late night snack._ He blinks, thinking that must not be right, assuming he’s clearly gotten it wrong. He sits and stares, waiting for Robbe to correct him by explaining, by saying anything else. But he just sits and takes an innocent bite from his croque, not even looking at Sander. Then he does look up, eyes locking on Sander’s where he’s still frozen with his food in front of his face, and Sander’s breath catches. 

Then he smirks. 

Smiley, sleepy, innocent, baby-faced Robbe _smirks_.

At _Sander_.

Sander clears his throat and sets his croque down, very purposefully gripping the back of his chair to hide the excited tremor in his hands. He tilts his head at Robbe. “You know what would make this better?”

“Uhh,” Robbe frowns. “Coffee?”

Sander snorts. “Good guess, but no. Better.” He flicks his brows at the confused boy as he stands from his chair and brushes off his hands. He makes his way across the shop and behind the counter, to the stereo tucked against the back wall. He checks none of his coworkers have meddled with it before nodding to himself, satisfied, and hitting play. 

He lets his head drop back as the opening notes of ‘Space Oddity’ thrum through the speakers, spinning around with a rhythmic bounce of his head to grin at Robbe. Robbe smiles back at him, though he looks even more confused than a moment ago as Sander dances his way back over to him. He turns the seat back around and flops down, leaning his arms on the table to sit closer to Robbe. He raises his brows when Robbe just continues to stare at him. “Do you know David Bowie?” 

Robbe blinks, then nods slightly. “Uhm, yeah, a little bit.”

“Your face is telling a very different story, Mr Ijzermans.”

Sander is mildly disappointed for the half second it takes for Robbe to bite his lip. Then he is really thinking about the other’s music taste, or any other taste of his other than people and whether or not Sander fits it. Robbe at least hasn’t turned him down so far, or left, or appeared annoyed or bored or anything else. It is entirely possible that Robbe is just staying out of politeness, because he thinks Sander wants him to; or because he really is just starving and disappointed Sander hadn’t offered him food two or three hours ago. 

It doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason, Sander is not going to let it be a wasted opportunity. He’s going to do everything in his power to convince Robbe that they should do it again. 

And that Bowie is in fact the best, and he doesn’t know how anyone could be unaware of such brilliance. 

“I’m sure I’ve heard other songs,” Robbe tries, and Sander represses a smile. 

“Mmhm? Can you name one?” Sander raises a brow. 

“Uh.” Robbe picks at his croque as he thinks before glancing up at Sander hopefully. “Pressure, isn’t that one?”

“Under Pressure,” Sander corrects. 

“Well, yeah, obviously that’s what I meant,” Robbe tries, smiling so adorably that Sander can do nothing more than shake his head at him and sigh dramatically, shoulders rising and falling. “I didn’t expect you to be a Bowie fan.”

This draws Sander’s interest. “No? What did you expect?”

Robbe considers him for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. I don’t think I actually expected anything in particular. Just, not this.”

Sander thinks they’re probably not just talking about Bowie. He’s gotten used to holding back, lately. To treading lightly and keeping a careful distance from the things he wants. The things that mean something to him, that have the potential to hurt. That he could hurt. 

But there’s just something, something about Robbe that makes him feel _safe_. The mush-melt of his brain and warmth in his chest leave him unusually confident that he would manage to keep Robbe safe, too. Sander takes care of the things he cares about, and he’s beginning to care an awful lot about Robbe. 

Something about Robbe makes him want to try his luck. “I don’t think you were expecting me to be into guys either.”

There are a lot of responses his brain supplies for this. All the possible things Robbe could say or do. All the many ways that will leave him feeling like he messed up. 

Of all these possibilities, he isn’t expecting a scoff and a smile. 

“No, the bleached hair totally gave that away.”

Sander can’t help it. He laughs. “Oh?”

Robbe hums. “And the fact that you flirt with your male customers. That was a pretty good indication.”

Sander raises a hand to his heart in mock offense. “I only flirt with one of my customers. Whom just so happens to be male. I’m not sure I can keep doing it, though.”

He feels very validated as he watches Robbe’s face fall. He pulls himself together very quickly, however, looking at Sander with an innocent curiosity. “Yeah? Why?”

Sander leans in closer, as if to share a secret. He licks his lips to get rid of his smile as Robbe mimics him. “I think he has shitty music taste,” he whispers. 

Robbe scoffs loudly and shoves Sander away as he slumps back into his own seat. Sander leans back, laughing, counting four seconds before Robbe’s lips begin to twitch up in a smile and he’s eventually giggling along with him. Sander wants to kiss that smile and swallow his laughter, let it fill his chest with enough elation that he floats away. 

Sander likes feeling grounding. He wouldn’t mind floating away, if he could take Robbe with him. 

“Maybe this customer has other redeeming qualities,” Robbe suggests. 

Sander grins and steals the remainder of his croque. “Yeah, I think he does.”

~^~

Robbe isn’t sure he can call these late night hangouts ‘dates’, but he really wants to. 

In the past three weeks, since the first night Sander had let him stay, Robbe has made it a point to go to the coffee shop in the evenings Sander’s working. He has enough work to keep him there until late, anyway, and the second time they do it, he purposefully lingers—in a way that seems accidental. He isn’t sure Sander buys it, the quirk of his smile a little too pleased to be innocent, but the fact that he _is_ pleased is enough to make Robbe stay the next time without putting up an act. The next time, when he notices the other customers clearing out, he seeks out Sander and simply raises a brow. Sander grins and gives him a thumbs up. Robbe works on until Sander is done cleaning up, and then Sander brings down a box of leftovers. 

Robbe becomes familiar with Bowie. 

More importantly, he gets to know Sander. He discovers the extent of his Bowie knowledge and passion, only to find out he’s not a musician but an artist. Sander tells him that he likes tea more than coffee and Robbe responds that that must be a weird artist thing, too. He learns that Sander is already in his third year and has been working in the coffee shop between classes since his second, saying it’s easy when the job is on campus. Eliott, already in his fourth and final year, had gotten him the position, as he’d been holding a part-time place since he started at the university. He also happens to be Sander’s best friend, which Sander seems to want to say more about before changing the topic instead. 

Robbe discovers, mainly, that he could listen to Sander talk for hours. That every word that leaves those lips fascinates him, draws him in, leaves him wanting more. More words, and more than words. He wants to know everything about Sander and he wants Sander. It’s become constant and all-consuming, an inexplicable desire to be with him at all times. Sander comes to greet him in his sleep and in his daydreams, name sketched in the corners of pages and face etched in his mind. 

It’s ridiculous, considering they’ve only really been talking for three weeks (although they set their sights on each other long before that). Or at least Robbe thinks that’s how it should feel. 

Instead, he can’t stop thinking about how easy it is with Sander. 

More shocking than anything he learns about the blonde is how comfortable he is with revealing himself. Always, at the beginning, Sander talks and Robbe listens, and then it tapers off into a patient silence. In this break, Sander hums along to Bowie and Robbe eats that day’s chosen dessert. Then he starts to talk, too. 

He tells Sander about BioMed and how he almost didn’t make it in, but not any of the reasons. By the fifth hangout, they’re sharing coming out stories. By the sixth, Sander can name all the Broerrrs with only the vaguest descriptions, as well as Lucas, who he seems most fond of. (“Lucas?” “Yeah. Wait, what’s funny about that?” “No, nothing, just Eliott’s boyfriend is a Lucas, too, but he can’t draw to save his life.”) They talk about simple things: skating, art, vlogs, Bowie. They cover the basics, the surface layer of personal, until they reach a level of comfort that Robbe has never felt with anyone else. 

He remembers what Jens had told him, when he met Lucas and came out to them like it was nothing, like falling for a Dutch boy with a sweet tooth and pencil stains on his fingertips was the most natural thing they could have ever expected him to do. It hadn’t come as a surprise to Robbe, mostly because Jens has casually mentioned his bisexuality to him days after Robbe had come out. 

It also helped that the way Jens looked at Lucas, spoke about him, the entire person he became in his presence, left no room for doubt. Robbe remembers seeing it, and remembers the loneliness he’d felt then. The jealousy even after he’d forgotten his feelings for Jens, when he’d long moved past any daydreams of a romance with his best friend. He remembers watching Jens fall for this boy who seemed so similar to Robbe himself in a number of ways and he remembers still thinking, ‘ _Why could that not have been me?_ ’

He remembers asking Jens, amidst a slightly drunken sleepover with just the two of them, remembers looking over and thinking and asking, “Why Lucas?”

Jens hadn’t really needed to think about it, but he’d searched for the words with care. “Because he makes me feel like me. He knows who I am, even better than I do, and he doesn’t ask for anything else. And he lets me know him, too. It’s like...with him, it’s always okay. Even when it’s hard, when something’s up between us, it’s easy because it’s him. Everything before, with Jana—not even with Jana, just like in my life, I felt like I had to constantly be _trying_. Like I had to pretend. To be easygoing, to be chill, to be unphased by everything. But even doing that, I still had to work to be trusted, to have people want to talk to me and listen to me.”

Robbe remembers the smile that had taken over his face as he’d looked at the ceiling, as he’d turned his head to Robbe and shrugged, like he wasn’t being more honest with him than he’d ever been. “I don’t have to try, with Lucas. We just...are. I just have to exist with him, and that’s enough.”

Sitting in the coffee shop with crumbs on his lips and Sander’s laugh in his ears, Robbe finally begins to feel like he understands. 

It’s why, by the seventh occasion, Robbe finds himself spilling all his secrets. He tells Sander why it had felt extra hard to get here and to carve out his place, why he still works himself to the limit in an effort not only to maintain his funds but to prove to himself that he deserves it. He tells him about his dad leaving and why, about taking care of his mother since he was a child and moving into a flatshare at the age of sixteen. He explains why it was so hard to come out, how he couldn’t take any more change, how the way people looked at him felt different enough as it was. How keeping his father happy enough to continue sending him money was more important, how getting his mother home meant more to Robbe than the mess in his own head. 

Sander listens, and sees, and doesn’t ask for anything else. He gently, almost mindlessly, tangles his fingers with Robbe’s atop the table and traces patterns on his palm, leaving Robbe stuttering through his next words until he manages a steadying breath. 

This realisation, that Sander could really be this person for him, is what leaves Robbe bouncing on the balls of his feet the next time he enters the cafe. He’s prepared for the shock of blonde hair to be visible through the door, for green eyes to light on him as soon as he steps inside. 

It’s probably because he’s come to expect it that he’s incredibly disappointed when he’s wrong. 

For the first time, Sander isn’t behind the counter to greet him. 

Instead it’s Eliott, who Robbe has never actually spoken to but who greets him with a blinding smile. Robbe is too distracted to return it, looking around behind the counter as if he expects Sander to waltz out of the back room with an apology for making him wait or to simply appear out of thin air. But Sander just isn’t here. 

Eliott snaps him out of his thoughts with a cheerful, “Hi. What can I get for you?”

For half a second, Robbe is tempted to say ‘Sander’. He banishes the thought quickly with a small shake of his head. He needs to collect himself or Eliott’s going to start thinking he’s crazy. Or, that Robbe clearly has it bad for his coworker. Then he might tell Sander. Then Robbe will be too embarrassed to ever come here again. 

And he really does like their coffee. 

“Uh, just a black coffee. Please,” Robbe says quietly, stamping down his disappointment. 

Eliott nods and makes a vague gesture towards Robbe’s usual table. “Robbe, isn’t it? Go ahead, I’ll bring it down to you.”

Robbe’s jaw drops slightly. “You don’t have to—“

Eliott simply waves him off as he collects a cup and heads to the coffee machine, leaving Robbe to linger awkwardly for a moment before giving in and going to his table. He slowly sits down and deposits his bag on the floor, trying not to meditate on the many reasons Eliott would know his name. He sighs, tells himself to pull it together, and drags a notebook out of his bag. 

It shouldn’t be all that surprising that Sander isn’t working. Robbe isn’t sure how he’s managed to show up during one of Sander’s shifts every single time as it is. The only reasoning he can give is that their timetables sync up somehow, or plain luck. But the first night Robbe had stayed behind Sander gave him a brief description of his usual schedule, and since that they’ve made exact plans of Robbe’s visits. It shouldn’t be surprising, only Sander had _told him_ he’d be here today. 

Maybe Robbe is just early, or Sander had made a mistake, or there was a switch on the rota. Or maybe Sander had just caught a cold or the flu or a stomach bug and called in sick. He doesn’t have Robbe’s number. He wouldn’t have any way to tell him. 

Eliott once again startles him out of his head by setting his coffee down on the table, still with the same bright smile. Before Robbe can talk himself out of it, he says, “Uhm, Eliott?” Eliott leans down, humming questioningly. “Is Sander here today?”

Eliott’s smile turns knowing—and somewhat pinched. “No, he’s taking a few days off.”

“Oh.” Robbe’s heart drops into his stomach. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I think he has a project to finish. I can let him know you were looking for him?”

“No, that’s okay,” Robbe says quickly. He doesn’t want to bother Sander and he doesn’t want to appear clingy. He definitely doesn’t want to show his desperation to Eliott. It’s possible, he supposes, that Sander had accidentally left something until last minute and then had changed his plans in a rush. He would have no reason to lie to Robbe if he knew he wasn’t going to be here. He should have no reason to lie to Robbe at all. Right?

Eliott’s expression softens and he changes his offer. “I can let you know if I hear when he’ll be back.”

Robbe almost denies this as well, but he thinks Eliott would just wave him off again. He’s obviously not oblivious to the situation. Robbe just hopes he doesn’t hate him for now always taking half of the leftovers. 

He nods with a quiet, “Thank you.” Eliott gives him another sunshine-filled smile before flouncing back to the counter, rag swinging against his hip with every step. He’s taller than Sander, longer limbed, and somehow darker and brighter at once. There is an undeniable similarity, however Robbe can’t find the basis. 

Sander would have no reason to lie to him, but he wonders if Eliott would. Robbe can’t help but feel like there was something off about the excuse he’d given, evident in the strain of his smile. He can’t help but wonder if the project is a quickly fabricated cover, hiding something deeper that Robbe isn’t allowed to know about. 

He wishes he could just ask Sander himself, and he realises they maybe aren’t as close as he’d thought. 

They shouldn’t be, really. Close. They’ve talked and flirted and spent some time together, but when does all of that become enough to actually make it something? When does it actually become a _thing_? 

Surely it takes longer than three weeks. 

Three weeks is enough time, he supposes, to get to know someone. Sander had spent three weeks getting to know him. He’d listened, and he’d seen, and he’d come to know. 

But he hadn’t let Robbe know him. 

Beyond Bowie and art and croques and a few basic facts, friends and favourite movies and the fact that he’s claustrophobic, Robbe doesn’t know Sander at all. 

~^~

Sander isn’t very surprised when Eliott shows up at his door, but he is a little concerned that he’s brought food. 

“I brought lunch,” he says cheerfully, by way of greeting, as if the words don’t form an instant ball of dread in Sander’s stomach. 

He raises a wary brow. “Trying to put me out of my misery?”

Eliott scoffs, letting his arm and the offending bag drop back down to his side. “Lucas made it. Can I come in? Please?”

Sander steps back and lets him in. 

He expects Eliott to make a beeline for the bed, to infiltrate Sander’s space and make himself comfortable. Instead, Eliott’s gaze catches on his desk and he wanders off, looking down at where Sander hadn’t thought to close his sketchbook. His fingers hover an inch above the page, over the careful outline of Robbe’s face, and trace the lines in the air. He looks over his shoulder at Sander, knowing and understanding and overwhelmingly irritating, because it doesn’t irritate Sander at all. 

He knows that if anyone understands, it’s Eliott. 

“How many?” he asks, as Sander moves back to his bed and sits with his legs pulled close to his chest. This is the best he can do to hide himself when he feels otherwise uncomfortably exposed. Eliott runs his eyes over the wall above his desk where numerous other sketches have been stuck, all of Robbe. Robbe with his head bent over a book, Robbe lit up with the light from his laptop, Robbe holding a coffee cup, Robbe taking a bite from a croque, Robbe sleepy-eyed and still smiling, Robbe, Robbe, Robbe. Eliott turns around to look at him and leans back against the desk, careful of Sander’s mess. He raises his brows in question, patient. 

Sander rubs his sleeve between his fingertips and shrugs. His gaze flicks from his sketchbook to the bin in the corner filled with crumpled sheets to the stack of paper hidden under one of his textbooks. “Many,” he answers simply. 

Eliott smiles slightly—sympathetically—and then he’s climbing onto the bed next to Sander. He pulls his long limbs into a neat criss-cross pose and peeks into the bag, before pulling out a lunch box filled with what appears to be a stir fry. He holds it out to Sander in offering, and after a moment’s hesitation, Sander takes it. Eliott grins and also passes him a fork. 

They sit with the lunch box open between them, slowly taking the food in bite by bite. Eliott doesn’t ask him any questions, doesn’t speak at all other than to tell Sander about the mess they’d made that morning when he’d attempted to help Lucas cook. At the comment, Sander pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Eliott rolls his and gestures flippantly at him. “You’ve already eaten half of it now.”

They sit and they eat and Sander feels some of the lingering fogginess disappear, starting to escape from his slump as he finally fills his stomach. When he puts his fork down with a quarter of the food left, Eliott takes a few more bites before packing it up and laying himself in Sander’s lap. 

This is something they’d always done, since Eliott had shown up at Sander’s another time and found him struggling to breathe with his hands frantically moving through his hair. He’d calmed Sander down and then maneuvered them into this exact position, taking Sander’s hands and placing them in his own hair with outstanding trust. It had taken Sander a moment to understand, but after a few strokes of his fingers through the soft strands, he’d realised it was a tactic meant to soothe him and that somehow, it worked. 

Lucas had found them like that, once, when Sander had made his way to their flat instead, exhausted and half ready to lose his mind. Sander had frozen, almost guilty, but Lucas just shook his head and leaned in the doorway with a half-smile. Eliott had opened his eyes as if sensing his presence and grinned, beckoning his boyfriend over. Lucas had sat on the ground with his side pressed to Sander’s legs and Eliott’s hand in _his_ hair, and Sander had felt a bemused understanding. 

He twirls a lock of Eliott’s hair between his fingers now and lets the repetitive motion and warm weight comfort him. His mind eases and then drifts, until he’s imagining a different set of brown curls under his hand, brushing against his skin, and he closes his eyes and sinks into the daydream. He imagines delicate lashes fanned over cheeks, eyes and nose crinkled with a smile, melodious giggles filling the air and drowning out the sound of Sander’s thoughts. 

“He was looking for you, the other day,” Eliott says suddenly, and not for the first time, Sander wonders if he can actually read his mind. “I think he was very disappointed to see me.”

Sander snorts and opens his eyes, giving his hair a light tug. “Well, I am a better employee.”

“Because you dote on him and give him too much free food?”

“Like you don’t give Lucas special treatment all the time.”

“I’ve been dating Lucas for three years,” Eliott points out. 

“Exactly, you’d think you’d be over the honeymoon phase by now.”

Eliott hits his shoulder half-heartedly. “Don’t change the subject. I’m serious. It’s actually sweet. He’s been coming in every single day. Always looking around behind me as if I’m hiding you somewhere.”

Sander sighs. He silently plays with Eliott’s hair for another moment. “I don’t think he’d be looking for me if he knew what was actually going on.”

“You don’t know that,” Eliott argues immediately, suddenly serious as he opens his eyes. “I don’t think he’s like that. But neither of us can make the decision for him.”

Sander looks away, tilting his gaze up to look at the drawings on his wall, of the kind tilt to Robbe’s mouth and innocence in his eyes that Sander spent hours trying to capture from memory. Despite his fears, there’s a sense of _knowing_ , a surety in his heart that Robbe really wouldn’t turn him away. Despite his quiet demeanor and his easy blush, Robbe doesn’t seem like the kind of person to give up easily. In fact, after everything he’s told Sander, that seems perfectly clear. 

“He takes care of his mom, you know,” Sander says eventually. “I don’t actually know what’s wrong with her, but she’s been institutionalised a few times, so I’m assuming it gets pretty bad.”

“And he takes care of her,” Eliott points out. 

“He _worries_ about her. He suffers. His dad left because of it. He’s had a shitty time.” Sander huffs something like a laugh, self-derisive and disbelieving. “And he’s still the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

Eliott smiles, and Sander waits for the sappy comment he’s sure is coming. But Eliott stays silent. As if he’s waiting, as if he knows there’s more Sander has to say. Or as if nothing else needs to be said—he already understands exactly what’s going through Sander’s head. 

Still, Sander blows out a sigh and spells it out for him. “I don’t want to be something else he worries about. I don’t want to just be another thing that makes his life hard. I thought, maybe…but this seems like a sign that’s true. That that’s the only outcome I can expect.”

“I worry about you,” Eliott says instantly, as if he had the response already prepared. Sander is sure he probably did. He’s sure, before Eliott came over, he’d prepared for a variety of conversations. All, likely, focused on this singular topic. “I worry about you, and I don’t think it makes my life hard.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Sander argues. 

“Isn’t it? We worry about each other, and it doesn’t stop us from being friends.” He sits up, shifting back into his earlier position across from Sander. “Okay. Lucas worries about me, and sometimes I hate myself for it. I think it’d be easier if I could just be better, or if I was normal, or if he didn’t have to deal with him at all. No matter how many times he tells me differently. But then I realise, I worry about him as well. I worry if he’s struggling with classes, if he remembers to have breakfast, if he’s stressed about money or his parents or his friends, if his insomnia is acting up. I worry if he gets sick, if he seems quiet, if he’s angry. I care about him more than anything and that makes me worry. It has nothing to do with him doing anything wrong, or with him having an MI. It’s just because I love him. Nothing about that makes my life harder. In fact, nothing in my life makes me happier than Lucas.”

Sander swallows thickly. He’d never thought of it like that. He’d never considered the fact that he’d worry about Robbe, too. If he was working himself to death, if his mom was doing okay, if he was having another argument with his dad, if all the coffee was going to eventually give him a heart attack. He’d never considered the fact that he worries about Eliott, too, just because he cares, just because he doesn’t want to see him hurt. He’d never considered that people in relationships just worry—and sure, in Sander’s case, things become heightened, things can be a little worse, there are more things to worry about. 

Eliott lets out a breath through his nose, ducking his head to catch Sander’s eyes. “Think about it. If he does like you, and you’re pulling away, are you really saving him, or are you just hurting him more?”

Sander stares at him for a moment. Then he slumps sideways onto his pillow with a sigh, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You just got really lucky with your boyfriend, huh?”

Eliott’s smile is much too bright for Sander’s exhausted state, but his heart softens as Eliott flops down beside him. “Mmhm. With my friends, too.” He nudges Sander pointedly, earning a fond eye roll. “I think you could get very lucky as well. He’s looked tired these past few days, too. You must have done something right, because he obviously misses you.”

Sander finds himself properly smiling for the first time in days. He imagines Robbe coming in, expression hopeful as he pushes the door open before it falls at the lack of Sander. His heart warms and swells and quickens, and he ignores Eliott’s quiet laughter to focus on the flutter in his stomach. 

He turns his head to look at his friend, smile still playing on his lips. “Eliott?” 

The older boy hums. 

“Thanks.”

Eliott smiles softly, then he locks his arm around Sander’s neck and pulls him into his chest for a brief moment, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “Anytime.”

~^~

The next time Robbe goes to the coffee shop and Sander’s _there_ , he almost passes out. 

He freezes just two steps inside the door as Sander notices him and flashes that bright grin. Robbe’s heart seizes, breath cutting off abruptly, caught in his chest. He curls his hand into a fist, nails digging into his palm, and tries to restart his brain. It’s difficult, with Sander moving to lean across the counter like that, arms flexing atop the wood and smile softening. 

He’s only bumped out of his daze when someone literally bumps into him from behind, almost knocking him down with the door. He hastily moves away as the tired looking girl gives him a look before walking to the counter ahead of him. He looks back and catches Sander covering a laugh, greeting the girl easily, no longer looking at Robbe. Robbe swallows and moves to stand behind her, waiting in line and never once taking his gaze off Sander. He thinks he’s a little afraid that, if he looks away, the other boy will disappear. Like he was just some kind of mirage, fabricated from Robbe’s overeager mind in an attempt to bring him peace or taunt him further. 

But Sander doesn’t disappear. He shoots an amused grin at Robbe over the girl’s shoulder, gives a fond shake of his head, allows his shoulders to shake with laughter as he turns to the coffee machine. The girl glances around at Robbe, who very pointedly fixes his gaze on the floor and pretends not to notice. When he looks up again—after the girl has slipped past him and back out the door—Sander is grinning at him. 

Robbe moves forward slowly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and offering a tiny smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Sander returns, voice unusually soft. Instead of his usual question, he asks, “How are you?”

“Good,” Robbe nods, feeling like it’s finally true. “How are _you_?”

Sander pulls a face. “Already feeling like I need another break. Better now, though.” The smile he offers Robbe then is breathtaking; better than any Robbe has seen before, even in his daydreams. He would never have let himself imagine such an expression, something so gentle and fond. Being the object of such affection would surprise Robbe no matter who it was; but the fact that it’s _Sander_ , beautiful, magnetic Sander whom Robbe had spent the past few days doubting, sends his heart leaping. 

“That’s good,” he says simply, biting his lip to try to prevent his own smile from completely taking over his face. “Did you get your project done in time?”

Sander’s brow furrows. “What project?”

Robbe’s stomach drops. He swallows around the lump in his throat and asks, “Weren’t you off to work on a project?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Sander says. “That project. Yeah. I mean, yes, it was fine.”

Robbe hates that he doesn’t believe him. He nods, smiling slightly, and the bell over the door jingles again. He looks behind him and sees a boy around his age walk in, stopping a few feet behind Robbe with his eyes glued to his phone. He turns back to Sander, who drums his hands on the counter and asks, “The usual?”

Robbe nods and this time, he waits for his coffee. Sander gives him a curious look, but doesn’t say anything. He sets Robbe’s coffee in front of him as Robbe slides his money across the country and makes his way to his table without another word. 

His head is spinning and he needs to be away from Sander to get his thoughts in order. He can’t think straight, when he’s that close to him. And he needs to think. He doesn’t know what to think. He’s thinking too much. 

He falls into his chair and draws his bag into his lap, fingers clenching in the fabric. He drags his fingertips over the zip, up and down, as he tells himself to calm down. He doesn’t know what he’s getting so worked up about. So what, if Sander lied to him? Or, well, if Eliott had lied for him and he’s going along with it? It’s fine if he doesn’t want to tell him. He doesn’t owe Robbe anything. 

But if he isn’t willing to let him in, does he really like Robbe as much as it had seemed? As much as Robbe had hoped? Isn’t that what Jens talked about, about feeling so safe and comfortable that you instantly wanted to tell the other everything?

No, Robbe thinks, that isn’t what he’d meant. 

He’d meant knowing, without telling. Accepting, without asking for more. 

Is it Robbe who doesn’t like Sander as much as he’d thought, if he doubts him so easily? 

_Does_ he like him enough to accept him anyway? 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more, but I’m on my break, and I come with croques.” Sander crashes into the chair across from him, words falling from his mouth a mile per minute, and Robbe’s question is answered. 

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” Robbe asks. 

Sander blinks. It’s obviously not the response he’d expected. Robbe hadn’t been expecting it, either. But it had seemed suddenly important to ask, suddenly necessary. They’ve flirted and danced around each other and tested the waters enough by now. If Sander’s going to turn him down after all, he’d rather just get it over with. 

The smile growing on Sander’s face suggests he doesn’t have to worry. “Is that not what we’ve already been doing?”

Robbe’s lips part. “I’m—is it?”

“I...thought it was. Unless you didn’t want…?”

“Sander, I’m the one who literally just asked you out. Which you still haven’t given me an answer to, by the way.” By now, Robbe’s smiling fully, heart flapping around in his chest with glee. He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer, and he can’t believe Sander has derailed the conversation by doubting _Robbe’s_ feelings. Robbe doesn’t have any doubts in this moment. 

Then Sander says, “I wasn’t taking time off because I was working on a project.”

Robbe’s smile slides slowly off his face. “Okay,” he says softly. “So why were you?”

“I—it’s probably not best to talk about it, here,” Sander admits quietly. 

Robbe recognises it for the plead it is and simply nods. He reaches across the table and covers Sander’s hand with his own before he can think better of it. Sander looks up at him in surprise, and Robbe wraps his fingers around his and squeezes. “Do you want to tell me about it over an actual dinner? Or drinks?”

Sander’s lips quirk up in a wry smile. “Like coffee?”

Robbe laughs slightly, shaking his head. “How about anything but coffee?”

Sander grins. “Dinner sounds nice,” he says quietly. 

Robbe’s heart sings. He gives Sander’s hand another squeeze. Then he smirks. “I’ll make us some croques.”

Sander’s laughter is the only response he needs. 

~^~

Eliott is not blind. 

He notices the bounce in Sander’s step. He notices the frequent smile, the jolly greetings, the avoidance of Eliott’s questions. He notices Robbe’s even more frequent appearances, the furtive looks, the lingering touches. The same as always, but increased. Less shy, less unsure, more visible. Obvious. Eliott is pretty sure he wouldn’t miss what was happening even if he was blind. 

He waits patiently for Sander to tell him outright, remaining quietly pleased at a distance for now. He’s sure, eventually, Sander will come to him, or simply let something slip, and he can be outwardly ecstatic. For now he can bottle it in. He can. 

The response, when he does find out, is not quite what he expected. 

It’s hard to be ecstatic when he’s scared to within an inch of his life. 

After closing up shop, he pulls Lucas into the back room and lets their lips find each other in the dark. His hands find their way to Lucas’s hair as Lucas pulls him in by the waist and he lets out a breath of relief. This is his favourite part of the day, whether it’s in the back room of the shop or in the safe confines of their flat. Coming back to Lucas, having him in his arms again, is always what he looks forward to. He doesn’t care about Sander’s teasing, ignores Lucas’s entirely (he has _no_ room to talk), and lets himself enjoy it. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, or how many times they’ve done it. Kissing Lucas, falling into their own little bubble, will always be his favourite thing.

So when it’s interrupted with a crash that almost sounds like the roof is falling in, ‘ecstatic’ doesn’t exactly describe his feelings. 

Lucas digs his hands into Eliott's sides and lets out a high-pitched curse, which Eliott will tease him about later when he hasn’t just jumped out of his own skin. He flounders behind him for the light switch and flicks it on. Lucas curses again as the room is flooded with light. Eliott has to blink a few times before his eyes adjust, and then he immediately catches sight of bright blonde hair and two guilty smiles. 

“What the fuck, Sander? I thought you left! How long have you been here?”

“Uhm,” Sander gives a questioning glance to his partner-in-crime, who looks slightly more embarrassed. “Since my shift ended?”

“Your shift ended an _hour_ ago.”

Sander just blinks at him. 

Lucas clears his throat and gives the boys his most dazzling smile, running a hand through his hair before offering it to Robbe. “Lucas,” he introduces. 

Robbe shyly takes his hand and smiles. “Robbe.”

Eliott also smiles brightly at the youngest boy, offering a cheerful, “Hi! Before I continue, I want you to know I’m not mad at you.” Then he turns to Sander and throws his arms up. “What the fuck, Sander?” he repeats. 

Sander slips an arm around Robbe’s shoulders and pulls him into his side, raising his brows innocently. “What?”

Eliott gestures wildly. “Were you just never going to tell me and keep stealing my make-out spot in secret?”

“Uhm,” Sander shares another glance with Robbe. “Yes?”

Eliott flaps his arms again. 

“It’s the back room of the shop, you don’t own it,” Sander points out. 

“We were here first!”

“Technically, today, we were here first.”

Eliott frowns as Lucas moves to his side, gripping his wrist with one hand and rubbing his shoulder with the other. “I’m sure Sander had no idea he was stealing it,” he soothes. 

“He caught us in here before,” Eliott reminds him. 

Lucas pauses. “Oh yeah.”

“No worries,” Robbe butts in quickly, smiling as Eliott and Lucas turn towards them. “We have somewhere else to be soon so we’ll just leave you to it. Right, Sander?”

Sander opens his mouth to argue, still maintaining some kind of stare off with Eliott, before he turns to Robbe. His demeanor quickly changes, expression softening into a gentle smile as Robbe looks up at him. He easily agrees, “Right.”

As soon as he has his boyfriend’s agreement, Robbe begins tugging Sander towards the door, smiling as he goes. “It was nice to see you again, Eliott.”

“Was it?” Sander snarks, but he pats Eliott’s shoulder as he passes, shooting a wink at Lucas. 

“And nice to meet you, Lucas!” Robbe calls over his shoulder. 

“You too!” Lucas watches them leave, waiting until they’re out the door before turning to Eliott. He doesn’t look impressed. “You didn’t have to force them out.”

“My heart is still racing,” Eliott defends himself. Then, quietly, crowding Lucas’s space, “Excuse me for wanting to kiss my beautiful boyfriend in peace.”

Lucas’s lips twitch, but he valiantly does not smile. His head, however, does tilt back, allowing him to look up at Eliott through his lashes. “Oh is that all that’s wrong?”

Eliott hums and smiles widely, his hands already rising to cup Lucas’s face. He brushes their noses together as Lucas’s eyes flutter closed, and then he whispers, “Pay up.”

Lucas draws back, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You said it didn’t count before that Sander hadn’t come to you because they weren’t together yet. I don’t think you can use that excuse anymore.”

Lucas gapes, then punches his shoulder. “He didn’t come to you, either!”

“That wasn’t the bet. It was that you would get it out of him. And you didn’t,” Eliott shrugs. “So, pay up.”

Lucas’s head falls before he wraps his arms around Eliott’s neck with a sigh. He flutters his lashes at him with a smile. “Well, I can think of a few...mutually beneficial methods of payment.” He raises a brow in question. 

Eliott’s lips tug up in a smile. “Well, we have the place to ourselves.”

“I am not doing anything with you where there’s a chance of ending up with sugar or coffee grains in my pants.”

“I was hoping it would be a sans-pants type of event.”

“Only if it isn’t taking place here.”

Eliott laughs, pulling Lucas into another kiss. He’s only allowed to indulge for a few minutes before Lucas makes a wordless sound of protest, pulling away with a pointed look. Eliott gives in with a sigh and gestures at the door. 

Lucas leads him out without another word.


End file.
